O'Shea Chronicles
by Icecoldlogic
Summary: As a hardcore Whedonist, I felt it would be impossible for me to do justice to Joss' characters so I created new ones. I plan to bring in a few of the original characters mainly Angel but for now this is the first chapter of a new story.


Leaning against the stone wall of the building he waits. His hair is medium length and brown with a hint of blonde. His ruggedly handsome face is accentuated with emerald green eyes that, for a moment, allow you to forget about the several tattoos scattered throughout his muscular body. The tattoos grant him an air of danger and would surely turn most people away if not for the fact that they were all gothic crosses which seemed to be a twisted sign of his faith. He wears only a leather vest as if to flaunt his tattoos and a pair of jeans worn out from years of use. His shoes are simple and black as if to show he has no concern for style. His head looked down as he leaned against the building wall and one would think he was attempting to avoid attention if it wasn't for the fact that he stood beneath the only working light in the alley.

The silence of the alley was slowly dissolved by the rising sound of a woman's heels. The steam rising from a manhole at the entrance of the alley gave way to a petite but athletic girl no more than 18 years old. She walked steadily down the alley with her arms crossed in a menial attempt to keep herself warm. It seemed a pointless gesture as her outfit was obviously put together by a girl more concerned with style than function. She had tanned skin and straight, jet-black hair that matched perfectly her deep brown eyes. She had an exotic beauty most girls would love to have but never really achieve.

The girl walked quickly with her head down in an attempt to hurry by the stranger standing against the wall.

"You shouldn't be here." The Man said with a stern voice that bordered on agitation.

The girl spun to look at the Man as if caught by surprise.

"You should listen to the man, little girl." A figure said as it emerged from the shadows directly behind the girl. The figure was tall and dark with a demonesque face possessed only by the undead. The girl screamed as she spun to look at the vampire as the man leaning against the wall stood straight in anticipation but kept his eyes fixed on the vampire. He moved forward as if to attack but was pushed back hard against the wall by the girl. He didn't bother to mask his surprise as the girl pulled out a wooden steak from behind her and delivered a round house kick directly to the vampires face.

The girl delivered two punches to the vampire as the man realized another vampire had run out of the darkness that covered the end of the alley. He jumped forward and delivered a punch to the second vampire which was met by a howl. The Man revealed a wooden stake he had hidden in his vest. The vampire hissed revealing a red cheek where the man hit him then turned and ran back into the darkness from which he came. Turning quickly he saw the girl staring at him next to a pile of ash with her eyebrows raised as if to say 'Is that all?' with her eyes.

"Let me guess…", He started, "you're…"

"Kiana", she interrupted, "the Vampire Slayer. You are?"

"Brendon…", He answered, "and I was just leaving."

"Do you always hang out in dark alleys, Brendon?" She said loudly with her hands on her hips in a blatant attempt to emphasize her attitude. Kiana was never very good about hiding her feelings and she knew from the beginning Brendon was not a Vampire. Her slayer sense was strong but certainly not strong enough to explain why a human man stood alone in a dark alley and remained untouched by hungry Vampires.

"I don't need to explain myself to you, Slayer." Brendon responded bitterly as he turned to face her. He took a brief moment to look her down as is his habit of everyone he meets. It was with then he noticed Kiana's necklace, a gold chain with a cross that was an incandescent white made from the inside of a seashell. The cross was beautiful but delicate and if that necklace was any indication of her character she wouldn't last long here in Seattle and she'd be lucky to live for a full day in 'The Hellmouth'.

Kiana glared with a conviction typical of a young Slayer then her training hit her hard and quick. In a truly rare moment, she recalled the tedious words of her Watcher and the occasional stories of past Slayers. Recent history tells of a member of the O'Shea family known for his stoic nature and strategically placed tattoos made from ink mixed with holy water making his skin almost untouchable to Vampires. The Watcher Chronicles say he's helped a few Slayers in his day but has always insisted on fighting alone after the immediate task was complete. An unsubstantiated rumor also states he drinks 2 liters of Holy Water a day to make his blood undrinkable to Vampires. The truth of his unique drinking habits is unknown but it would be a clever idea considering not everyone can possess the superhuman strength of a Slayer. Upon her realization, Kiana's glare slowly dissolved into a slight squint in an attempt to confirm Brendon's identity.

"You're Brendon O'Shea, the Demon Hunter." Kiana declared.

Brendon stepped back in an involuntary response to being caught off guard. After realizing the source of his surprise, he regained composure gave a slight frown. "Those damn Watchers have to write everything down, don't they?"

"Well, I do all the fighting so what else are they gonna do?" Kiana responded. Although Kiana adores her Watcher, she's always wondered why they insist on playing such a passive role in protecting humanity.

A slight smile appeared on Brendon's face but vanished quickly. He learned a long time ago that getting too close is painful and although he would love nothing more than to share a moment with his new found friend chances are pain and injury will tear them apart. His family's perceived duty has left Brendon alone. To date, he is only aware of two family members that aren't dead or turned.

Kiana suddenly took her hands off her hips and began to toy with the wooden stake in her hand in a way that was both nervous and flirty. Her gaze was nervously jumping throughout the alley as she said, "Listen, I kinda have to go patrol but if you wanna come with… well… I wouldn't mind the help." Before Brendon could respond, Kiana continued.

"I mean, you seem to know what you're doing and I hear you're good at it and…" The Slayer who, like all those before her, grew up too fast now finds herself feeling very much like a child. Flushed with embarrassment she stops her sentence there and ends it with "…nice tattoos, by the way."

Unable to stop his smile, Brendon too became embarrassed, "I ummm gotta go. But I'll see ya around, I'm sure." Still smiling, Brendon turned and disappeared into the darkness of the alley.

Kiana turned back towards the alley entrance and whispered, "…I hear your good at it?" as if scolding herself.

****

Brendon walks slowly across an empty street towards a large cathedral church. His muscles were sore from a night of hard-won battle yet the stinging cold of the night seemed more of a distraction. Although he was technically apart of the church he spend every night there. He helped rid the world of the Demon Threat while helping the clergy feel safe and in return he's given room and board. It was a good arrangement for both parties but still he felt guilty every time he walked up the stone steps to enter 'God's House'.

Images of the new Slayer flashed through his mind as he approached the doors of the church. Stopping slowly he looked down at the pavement watching with his mind's eye the thoughts that rushed through his head. Suddenly, an internal ache arose in his heart followed by a faint urge to cry. As the sadness progressed, Brendon fought to distract himself in vain. His wish was quickly realized when the church door quickly and loudly opened to reveal a priest. An older man in his mid-fifties with grey hair and small eyes. Although he wore the clothes of a priest, he had the countance a of King. His eyes were strong and piercing and gave him a feel of someone not to be trifled with.

"I thought that was you." The priest spoke firmly but quietly.

Brendon nodded and entered the church in a very humble fashion. It seemed strange that a Man who spent the whole night fighting demons and vampires would seem so vulnerable. Brendon raised his hands to touch his forehead to begin the sign of the cross as the Priest closed the church door.

"You're back later than usual. I was starting to worry." In that instant the Priest's strong eyes gave way to a hint of worry.

"I'm sorry, Father." Brendon walked forward quietly heading toward the front of the church only to turn towards the back rooms behind the podium. "I'd like to go to bed unless you need me for something else?" Brendon's eyes were red but the Priest couldn't recall a night of fighting in which they were not blood-shot.

"Go with God, my Son." The Priest stood and watched as Brendon walked into the back rooms toward his quarters. With a sigh the Priest firmly gripped his rosary and walked towards the opposite end of the church wondering how a man who seems to have such uncompromising purity be so insistent on pushing others away.


End file.
